


Broken Promises and Consequences

by SuccubusKayko



Series: On a Lark [8]
Category: FFXIV, Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Caretaking, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Multi, Polyamorous Character, Rest and relaxation, Threesome - F/M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Ultimatums, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-06-15 17:56:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15418446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuccubusKayko/pseuds/SuccubusKayko
Summary: When Aymeric breaks a promise to The Warrior of Light, Estinien is sent to collect him from the Congregation of the Knights Most Heavenly and is warned of impending consequences.OREstinien and WoL take care of Aymeric, because he doesn't always take care of himself.(Tags have been updated to better reflect the direction of the story. Please read the tags and be advised)(Update: Currently working on reformatting every chapter to proper AO3 standards, 'cause I learned how to do that. . .)





	1. Collection

Chapter 1

 

As the bells of Ishgard tolled the late hour, Aymeric de Borel quietly stood from his desk. His eyes had long since gone bleary and it was only with fierce stubbornness and an unhealthy amount of caffeine, in the form of long since tepid coffee, that had born him to this late hour. He steadied himself against the sturdy mahogany surface as his head swam and his stomach churned, but he bit the feelings back with a deep, slow, breath. The dull ache in his ribs was a pointed reminder that he needed rest, the wound having long since healed, but it flared up whenever the weather was particularly cold or, much like tonight, he had thoroughly overworked himself.

 

He really should listen to Lucia, wise beyond her years for dealing with his foolish attempts to take everything onto his own shoulders, when she urged him to head home for rest.

 

That had been. . . He glanced at the chronometer at the edge of the mantle over the hearth. He had to blink two, three, four times, before his eyes focused enough to see that it was very nearly dawn. Had it really been six hours ago? Just perfect, he would get some two hours of  _ sleep _ , if he could really call it that, before he needed to be up and making his way to the counsel meeting between the House of Lords and House of Commons. It was too long to be a power nap, however, so  _ sleep _ it was.

 

But, no, he remembered wearily as he stumbled from the Congregation of the Knights Most Heavenly, he still had to go and speak with one of the Lords Dzemael, which one was it again, about his recent additions to the reserves.

 

Though Lord Whitan's twin daughters were  _ indeed _ skilled with both bow and blade and showed amazing potential for a future in the Temple Knights, it was still not appropriate for him to send his  _ six year olds _ to train with fully grown men and women at the battlements. No matter how well disciplined and intelligent, they were still classified as  _ toddlers _ by law of the Holy See for at least another two winters, and could be little more than squires for another four. He knew that the lord meant well, and that he was trying to scrape together soldiers from his lesser house to send to the reserves for the fighting in Ala Mhigo, but it was really beginning to get out of hand. No matter how many men or women were necessary to keep the peace, he would not allow the Lord to sacrifice his  _ only _ children to do so.

 

Yes, Lord Whitan's daughters were top priority right now, he agreed with himself.

 

As he wandered out of the courtyard outside of the Congregation, nodding politely to a handful of knights as they were changing shifts, he felt, more than saw, a looming presence fall into step beside him. His heart rate picked up, his breath catching in his throat, memories of a man brushing passed him in the street, only to find a knife between his ribs, as he subtly glanced towards the lean silhouette.

 

“Fury, have mercy,” Aymeric whispered as Estinien phased into existence beside him, “I wish that you would not do that. I am liable to have a heart attack at this rate, with all of the people that keep sneaking up on me of late.”

 

The dragoon kept step with him, ignoring his dramatics and offering casual sarcasm in its place, “It would be more difficult to sneak up on you if you  _ slept _ , once in a while. It is amazing what adequate rest can do for one’s sense of awareness.”

 

Aymeric spared him only a passing irritable flick of his ice blue eyes as he willed his heart to stop its racing, “Why are you here? I have work this morning.”

 

“I have come to serve  _ Her _ will,” Estinen deadpanned, emphasizing his own irritation with the situation.

 

Aymeric blinked at him tiredly, clearly confused, “Since when are you so devout a follower of Halone?”

 

The dragoon sniffed, “You really are dim when you've not rested.” He motioned vaguely, “ **_Her_ ** .  _ Your Lady Warrior _ .” The dragoon sighed and settled a hand on his hip, “I have been told that  _ you _ broke a  _ promise. _ ”

 

Aymeric stopped abruptly in the street, scrubbing his hands over his face in remembrance, “Yes, of course. I promised her that I would be home for dinner.” He peeked through his fingers sheepishly, “I've so much work to get done today.”

 

“Though I remember you making no such promise to  _ me _ ,” Estinien offered, gaining an apologetic frown in response, “I do remember  _ her _ giving you an ultimatum.” The dragoon had somehow corralled him into a shadowed corner of the street, and as Estinien wrapped a firm arm around his waist and it was only then that Aymeric realized that his  _ pride _ could potentially be in danger. “And  _ I _ have been tasked with  _ dragging you home _ the moment you stepped out of the Congregation,” Estinien vaguely muttered under his breath, “I don't see why she couldn't come and  _ collect _ you herself.”

 

“Estinien,” Aymeric began, raising his hands to placate the former Azure Dragoon, backing the two of them further into a corner, “Please. Don't do this!” He made to slip the dragoon's grip, with little success, as he just stumbled further into his grasp. With his back to the wall, Estinen’s arm firmly about his waist, his heart set to racing again, the feeling of dread from moments before returning full force, “I  _ promise _ I'll go home with you  _ right now _ . Pray, but allow me to  **_WALK_ ** !” His words fell upon deaf ears as Estinien scooped his legs out from under him and took to the air, a graceful leap that was only befitting of his previous station. Aymeric held onto his neck for dear life and he swore he saw the stoic elezen's lips twitch up into a smile when he did so.

 

“I  _ hate _ you, right now,” Aymeric hissed, voice lost by the force of the winds around them.

 

“You have only yourself to blame,” Estinien snickered, alighting on the battlements, readjusting his hold on the Lord Commander, then taking off again, “ _ I _ did not make promises to  _ The Warrior of Light _ that I had no intention of keeping.”

 

“I had every intention of keeping it,” Aymeric explained wearily, his voice desperate, “Time just. . . slipped away from me.” His eyes fluttered closed despite the sharp terror in his breast from the carefully calculated free fall, “She's going to kill me.”

 

“ _ I might kill you _ ,” Estinien amended, tucking the dark haired head against his chest in a rare show of affection, “If it would get you to rest for a night.”

  
  
  


“Have you any idea what she's planned,” the knight mumbled miserably, blinking slowly in the darkness and only vaguely realizing that Estinien was carrying him through the doorway of his bedroom. He didn’t recall Estinien touching down or entering House Borel. Yet, here they were.

 

Had he dozed off along the way?

 

“I haven’t a clue. Though it sounded like she was tearing up the foundations of the house when I left,” Estinien nuzzled his cheek, as he tiptoed towards the large four-poster bed, “Whatever it is, I am certain you will be well rested for it. You know that she would accept no less than a fair fight.” Estinien tucked the blankets over him and leaned in to press a chaste kiss to his forehead. He was bodily tugged down for something a bit more heated, fumbling and sluggish though it was in Aymeric’s barely lucid state.

 

“Even if  _ you _ don't fight fair,” he heard the dragoon mutter as he untangled himself and stepped away. He was just about to close his eyes properly when he heard the loud screech of a chair being dragged across the floor and propped under the door handle. The sound had him watching Estinien warily as he tossed a smug grin over his shoulder.

 

Something about being in the comfort of his own home, the familiar sound of Estinien’s metal armor thumping against the wooden floors as he undressed, lulled him into some semblance of sleep., He barely roused when the bed behind him dipped, Estinien’s strong, warm arms curling around him and pulling him back against his chest, finally sent him into a proper doze 

  
  
  


He did rouse, however, when the bed dipped again and he was left shivering from the lack of heat at his back. His eyes cracked open and he winced as the rays of sun from the window pierced them. He buried his face in his pillow with a whimpering groan.

 

“Just going for a piss,” was the grunted reassurance as the door quietly opened, the chair magically gone, “Go back to sleep.”

 

As if the man had tripped a wire, he vaguely heard a woman's voice shout from deeper into the house, “I will come up there and **_fucking_** _sit on you_ if you are getting out of that _Twelve's damned_ **bed**!”

 

“Silence your blathering, shrill harpy,” Estinien hissed down the hall, “Its just  **me** and  **_you're going to wake him_ ** !”

 

This was quickly followed by a crash, a string of opulent cursing, and a noise that sounded suspiciously like the angry yowling of a coeurl. That was all silenced by the slamming of the, blessedly sturdy and well insulated, door.

 

The Azure Dragoon and Warrior of Light were stubborn, petulant, and always at each other's throats. They thrived on conflict and fought constantly, which made them both incredibly frustrating and complete ass holes to each other. But they were  _ his _ frustrating ass holes and their constant warring, paradoxically, set him at ease.

 

Ah, domestic bliss.

 

He sighed wistfully as he rolled over, away from the glaring rays of the window, and buried himself deeper into the plush warmth of their bed. A fond smile curled across his lips as the welcoming waves of sleep swallowed him down.


	2. What Fresh Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got this chapter hammered out. With any luck, I'll have the next chapter banged out by the end of the week, but no promises.
> 
> I am planning for this to be maybe 5 chapters? Possibly more or less, depending on how these crazy kids behave. XP

Chapter 2

He awoke to the feeling of nails scratching tenderly through his hair. Shirina - his Lady Warrior, as people liked to call her - had a tendency to lazily run her fingers through his hair when she was tired. It seemed to comfort her and so, as it was an entirely pleasant sensation, he lay there for a few long moments to enjoy it.

It was as though she could hear it, when his breathing changed, slowly becoming a touch less even and a bit more purposeful.

“I've just come to catch a few winks,” she purred, voice heavy with sleep and a touch of something else. Her voice was like a fine cognac, thick and warm and just a bit biting. He recalled, with melancholy, that she'd once had a more bell-toned voice, but her way of life had since tempered the sweeping soprano to a breathy alto. He did so miss when she used to sing to him, but even still, he enjoyed the small thrill that her half-whispered words sent down his spine. As though she were telling secrets for his ears only.

“Mmh,” was all he could muster in response as he released himself from his little cocoon and swept the heavy duvet around her. She gave a little breath of a laugh and rolled into his embrace as he pulled her in close. She tucked her head against his shoulder and tossed an arm and leg over him, cuddling close to take full advantage of his warmth.

He managed to stifle a wanton groan to only a small whimper of need as her inner thigh brushed against his groin, a spark of arousal curling low in his belly.

“Sleep now,” she murmured into his skin, her tone gentle, but brooking no argument, “Sexy later. . .”

It was a foolish thing to ask, “Promise,” as he curled his arm over her back and hugged her slight form against him.

“I keep mine,” she dismissed, a hint of irritation coloring her otherwise groggy words. She readjusted herself so that her leg was instead twined around his, denying him any further accidental brushes.

“M'sorry,” he nuzzled his face into her hair, feeling one of her long, softly furred ears tickle against his cheek as it flicked to the side.

“We’ll discuss it, later,” she wiggled a little more, still trying to find a comfortable position. She settled an arm over her belly, the other curled between them to rest between her breasts, as she yawned and kissed his chin absently.

He pouted into her hair and her ear flicked against his cheek again, as if chastising him, though he knew it was only his imagination.

He drew a breath to say something and her bristly, tufted tail flicked to bat at his hip as she groaned irritably, “Sleeeeep. . .”

He chuckled at the little whine and kissed the top of her head, soon drifting back below the tide at her request.

 

Gently whispered voices filtered into his ears, a low rumble and a wheezy murmur. He was vaguely aware of the encompassing warmth of a body pressed against his back and another curled against his chest. The wheezy voice faltered only momentarily, a furry ear flicking against his cheek, alerted to his fading drowsiness, but continued on after a moment.

The cobwebs in his brain were slow to pass and he could only process the tail end of the conversation. Something about someone called Magnai and rolanberries. Whatever it was, it was apparently funny enough to get a snort of amusement from the dragoon behind him.

Another wheezy murmur eluded his comprehension, before soft, thin lips pressed against the back of his neck, the arm around his waist coiling tighter, possessive. “Afternoon,” Estinien rumbled, playfully nipping at his nape. Aymeric hummed in sleepy approval as rough, calloused fingers splayed over his stomach, a thumb circling over his hip.

“Mmh,” he managed, leaning his head back against the well toned shoulder and was pleased as a hot, lazy kiss was placed upon his lips for his efforts. His even breathing hitched in his throat when Shirina’s slight form flattened herself against his front, leg curling over his hip and brushing her thigh against his growing arousal. He felt her soft, bowstring lips press a few searing kisses along his collarbone, then to the line of his throat, followed by the playful grazing of a fang. His hips, of their own volition, rolled forward, as he rubbed himself shamelessly against her. His ears were met with a low purr of satisfaction.

Aymeric could not help the little gasp of excitement that escaped him as Estinien ground against his backside, pressing him a little harder against Shirina’s thigh.

“Now, Estinien,” Shirina chided, even as she pressed her palm to Aymeric’s chest and leveraged the leg hooked over his hip to roll him further back against the dragoon, “We’ve lunch waiting downstairs and if we wait much longer, it will go cold.” He felt the weight beside him shift and realized that she was moving to get out of bed.

Aymeric shifted slightly, half-heartedly attempting to pull her back to him, but Shirina eluded him easily. Estinien, however, growled something unintelligible as he raked his teeth down the side of Aymeric’s neck, drawing another pleased gasp from his lips.

Shirina must have given him a look, because he soon relented with a heavy, grumbling sigh of agreeance. He released his grip on Aymeric’s hip, though not before giving his behind a cheeky squeeze, and rolled from beneath him. The bed shifted again and he found himself left alone in it.

Aymeric just managed to contain the whine threatening to escape his lips at the loss of contact, instead choosing to furrow his brows in consternation. The room was silent for a moment, but soon the sound of rustling cloth came to his ears. He slowly forced his over tired eyes open in time to see Estinien helping Shirina into her pale blue dressing gown, before pulling his own tunic over his head.

“Up you get,” Shirina chuckled as she caught him staring, “You’ll not laze in bed all day.” She drew the gown’s sash about her waist and fastened it in a neat bow, before adding ominously, “I’ve lain out clothes for you, get dressed.” She quickly made for the door, Estinien following, but only after tossing him a, mildly, guilty look over his shoulder.

As the door thumped shut behind them, Aymeric groaned. What fresh hell had he gotten himself into?

 

He waited a few moments, idly listening to the soft thump of their footsteps dissipating down the hall, and willed himself to get out of the pleasantly warm bed. Not as pleasant now that his companions were gone, he bolstered his resolve and eased onto his feet. His back and knees popped ominously, the cool chill of the room almost biting along his naked skin, but he ignored it in favor of searching out the clothing Shirina had prepared for him.

He found them easily, a neatly folded stack on his dresser with an equally neat folded parchment settled atop them. He picked up the sheet and read it over, raising an equally amused and confused brow at its contents.

                                   Lord Commander,  
                                                                 

                                        The Warrior of Light has informed me that you have succumbed to a ‘sudden bout of fatigue’ and are ordered to strict bed rest. And that should anyone disturb your rest with anything short of a ‘Second Calamity’, they are likely to be met with ‘an untimely demise’.

                                        I have already spoken with Lord Whitan about Eleanor and Helena. He has agreed to desist his delusional ideas of incorporating them into the Temple Knights in favor of an early apprenticeship with Master Millovach in the Armoury. He will be instructing them on the proper care of armaments and weaponry to better prepare them for their potential duties in the coming years. I expect them to become prime candidates for The Knights under his tutelage.

                                       The Lords’ meeting today has been cancelled. Apparently, the eldest of Lord Blackwell’s daughters has been discovered to be in the family way and it is rumoured to be the fault of Lady Louisa’s youngest son. Naturally, this has caused quite the scandal and both Lord Dzemael and Lord Haillenarte have been called away on ‘House Business’.

                                       I have reason to believe that we will be receiving word on nuptials in a matter of days, so I have ordered your parade regalia to be polished and refitted.

                                       The remainder of your duties for the day have been delegated to the appropriate Knights, Dragoons, and Clergy. You therefore have little cause to fear your absence bringing the Congregation down on our heads.

                                       I hope that your ‘recovery’ is swift and that you are able to return to your seat on the morrow.  
                                       

                                       I wish you luck taming your shrew and I expect a fine vintage to make its way to my table for the trouble.

 

                                                                                                            Ser Lucia

 

Aymeric snorted upon reading over the letter again, imagining Lucia’s cool, gray eyes sparkling with barely contained mirth at hearing Shirina’s tirade over his missing one too many dinners and not getting enough sleep. He knew well that his second in command did not take his lover’s threats seriously, knowing that they came from a place of love and genuine worry. Lucia herself had chided him for just that for a number of years before Shirina took over that particular duty. He knew that his second was grateful for her doing so, which was why she had agreed to take care of things in his short absence.

It was probably easier on Lucia to have him out of the way for a day, anyway.

He silently contemplated on which bottle to send to his second as he set the letter aside and began to dress for the day.

Shirina had picked out a heavy, black cotton tunic, a pair of loose fitting linen breeches, and some soft soled leather shoes for him to wear. The uncharacteristically casual clothing was a bit unexpected, but he supposed that they were not expecting any visitors in light of his ‘sudden bout of fatigue’. Despite the fact that he was certain he’d never owned such simple garments in all of his life, they were well made, comfortable, and fit him better than anything he’d worn in all of his life.

(Shirina, having been deeply disturbed, when she first began frequenting his house, to learn that he slept entirely in the raw, - despite the fact that Ishgard was what she considered to be ‘an inhospitable tundra’ - had offered to make him proper bedclothes. The fact that Ishgard had been ‘plagued by perpetual winter’ for only the five or so years following the Calamity and that the weather had always been nothing short of frigid year round, though decidedly greener, thus granting most Ishgardians at least some resistance to the cold climes, seemed to elude her comprehension entirely. She, of course, had been born and raised in temperate, tropical climates and, therefore, could not fathom why anyone would want to live somewhere that would require multiple layers of long sleeved, heavy woolen clothing. She seemed to ignore the fact that, while she was practically the only person in all of Ishgard that was not born or raised to endure the cold, she still primarily dressed in a fashion that was hardly conducive to keeping her warm. After explaining that she worried after his health, seeing as he often ignored his own mortality - the need for food, sleep, and proper hydration - and thus probably ignored the necessity for properly insulated underthings, he’d agreed to allow her just this one concession to his choice in drapery. His wardrobe, to his own chagrin, had subsequently expanded significantly and she’d begun to choose his clothing for every event that did not require him to wear his parade regalia or standard issued uniform armor, over the following year.)

He ignored the odd feeling that went down his spine as he imagined her dark and light gaze intent on him, taking in every inch of the angles and plains that made up his naked body. She’d probably been able to take his measurements at a glance, frighteningly observant as she could be.

Or she’d asked Lucia, he told himself, which was slightly more reassuring, though no less frightening.

The idea of his lieutenant and his lover having a conversation about him, that was not about his propensity for self-sleep deprivation and unintentional starvation, did little to quell the sudden nervousness in his belly.

Shirina was cross with him, perhaps more than, and it did not sit well with him. She was a generous and forgiving person - more often than not, to her own detriment - but, she was not to be trifled with when she set her mind to something. She had, decidedly and with frightening efficiency, set her mind to making sure that he stayed hale and whole, and thus did not take kindly to his foiling her efforts by ‘conveniently forgetting’ to partake in the hearty meals that she made for him at least twice a day.

 

His stomach rumbled monstrously, quickly pulling him from his reverie, as he recalled the promise of a hot meal, his tired mind supplying that he’d not eaten since lunch the previous afternoon.

Well then, time to stop dawdling and see what she’s scheming, he told himself as he pulled the tunic over his head.

At least Estinien would be there to keep her from literally tearing him a new one.

The thought gave him little comfort as he steeled himself and ventured from his room.


	3. Concern

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter has taken me a bit longer to post than I'd like. The reason being that it sort of flipped the original direction of this fic on its head. I was planning on making this just tooth-rotting fluff, but it sort of took on a life of its own and decided to make itself angsty and I kind of liked where it went? So I kept it.
> 
> That being said, I have since had to make small (huge) changes to the first two chapters. The first two chapters have been updated (now with a bit more foreshadowing and context?) and will remain unchanged in the future of this fic. (They're done. I'm finally happy with them and I'm sick of looking at them. XD)
> 
> I also want to apologize to anyone that was really looking forward to some uncomplicated, tooth-rotting fluff, (I'm right there with you and there will be fluff eventually! Promise!) but I kind of love the direction this has taken. Without giving too much away, I am genuinely looking forward to exploring more of Aymeric's side of things with this and I sincerely hope that you guys do, too!
> 
> There will be plenty of chances in the future for there to be uncomplicated, tooth-rotting fluff. (I may have one in the works already. . .)
> 
> So, with all of that out of the way, please enjoy this beautiful hot mess while I go work on the next chapter.

Chapter 3

 

The door to the dining hall was ajar, allowing a thin stream of sunlight through it to spill along the darkened corridor. That being in the dimly lit hall, awaiting what seemed to be, at its worst, a serious conversation about his acute inability to properly care for himself, instilled in him a sense of growing fear seemed, to him, a bit silly. Just beyond the door were, for all intents and purposes, two, of the three, people he trusted most in all of the world.

Even still, Aymeric halted at the last step, avoiding the little puddle of light, and strained to hear what the hushed voices inside were saying.

Estinien’s low baritone drifted to Aymeric’s ears.

“I am not certain about this _plan_ of yours” he was saying, “It seems a bit. . . extreme?”

“No need to worry,” Shirina murmured, the sound of silverware clattering against china following her words, “I have everything prepared and waiting. Should he be agreeable, everything should go just fine.”

" _Should he be agreeable_ ,” Estinien mimicked with a huff, shifting in his seat and causing the old wooden chair to creak with his movements. The soft clink of a glass against wood came to his ears, followed by, “And should he **not** be _agreeable_? What then?” Aymeric could hear as Estinien uncorked a bottle and poured himself a glass of something. He went silent for a moment, swallowed hard, then continued, “You know how he gets with these things.” He let out another low growl of annoyance with his companion, “He’ll never go for it, stubborn fool that he is.”

Shirina’s breathless chuckle followed Estinien’s irritated grievances, “If I didn’t know any better, Estinien, I would swear that you were worried.”

“Pssh,” was Estinien’s only response to that line of thought, the sound muffled in his glass.

“The point, anyway, is to relax,” Shirina continued, a tone of decisive confidence inflected in her voice, “If we are calm and explain ourselves. . .”

“Aye, so you’ve said a thousand times now,” Estinien snapped.

“Then he will have a better understanding of where we’re coming from,” Shirina assured, her voice growing closer to him as she spoke, “We will feel him out during lunch. Get an idea of how agreeable he is willing to be, then go from there. If he says ‘yes’, then everything will be just fine. If he says ‘no’, then we leave him to his own devices and hope-. . .” Shirina was silent for a moment, then chuckled, “Are you going to stand out there all day, love?”

Aymeric nearly jumped out of his skin as the dining room door was pulled open. Shirina’s lips were curled into a pleased smirk, and she leaned her hip against the door frame, “Eavesdropping is very unbecoming of you, Aymeric, dear. Why don’t you come and join us?” She beckoned him forward with the inclination of her head, then pushed off of the door frame to go back inside.

It took Aymeric a moment to stop his heart racing from the momentary shock of being found out. The feeling of uneasiness in his belly curled a bit tighter as he ventured closer toward the open doors. He took a moment to steady his breathing before he peered inside, eyes searching for something out of place or untoward.

It seemed, by the look of things, that this would be a rather cozy lunch.

Estinien was seated in one of the plush armchairs in the corner, pulled close to the end of the settee for some reason, nursing a glass of something dark and amber. Shirina was just settling back into her place on the opposite end of the couch, farther away from him, and reached towards the coffee table for her cup and saucer. They seemed to leave just enough room between the two of them for someone else to sit and, while Aymeric did not entirely hate the idea of being sat between the two of them, the seemingly intentional nature of the arrangement did little to calm his nerves. He allowed his eyes to wander further in favor of taking the only available seat.

A veritable feast of finger foods was splayed out along the small coffee table before his companions.

A variety of sandwiches cut into small triangles were artfully arranged on a small silvered tray. Various fruit and vegetables, carefully peeled and sliced into bite sized bits, were stuck with tiny wooden skewers, and surrounded by tiny bowls of various sauces to dip them in. A small bowl of hard boiled eggs sat unassumingly beside a tray of flaky, buttery pastries, flanked by various jars of jam and honey. Three large teapots, one for each of them, it seemed, were still steaming and smelling absolutely heavenly.  A ewer of chilled water with thin slices of cucumber and lemon floating about inside of it sat directly in the middle of everything. And, on the small end table beside Estinien, there was a pitcher of bright orange juice and a bottle of bourbon.

A light breeze ruffled the thin curtains, pulling his gaze towards them at the sudden movement, and cooled the room just enough to combat the heat from the ethereal glow of the noon-day sun through the open windows. The heavy wooden dining table and chairs were left deserted and empty, causing the room to seem almost otherworldly in its quiet serenity. The peace was broken only by the sounds of china tinkling against china and the hushed bustle of people going about their business on the street below.

The immaculate scent of freshly brewed coffee drew him a few steps closer to his seated companions before he even realized what he was doing. Shirina was already leaning forward to gather up one of the lovely china cups and filling it with the heavenly brew as he approached. Her eyes never left him, a brow arched in amusement at his seeming reluctance to come closer. She settled the cup back onto its saucer, the pot on it’s doily, and purposefully shifted it closer to the empty seat between herself and Estinien, enticing him to take his seat.

Despite the unwelcome feeling of dread working through his thoughts and cramping his stomach, Aymeric, finally, strode over to the pair and took his seat. He sat on the edge of the cushion, glancing between Estinien and Shirina suspiciously, and cautiously reached for his cup of coffee.

When Shirina suddenly reached towards the table, Aymeric nearly dropped the cup and saucer both, but managed to catch himself before it all went tumbling to the elaborately embroidered rug. He caught Estinien casting a meaningful look at the miqo’te, before none to subtly motioning his head towards his person.

Shirina let out a drawn out sigh of contempt, before showing Aymeric the jar of honey she was reaching for. He offered her a sheepish smile as she set the jar back down and took the cup and saucer from him, setting on the table before him. He caught the slight tremor in her hand, from the corner of his eyes, as she placed it in her lap, folding the other over it and curling her fingers together tight enough that her knuckles paled considerably. She stared down at her hands for a few agonizing seconds, while he waited for some kind of reprimand

It was silly, he told himself, being frightened of sharing space with Estinien and Shirina.

Despite being a startling force on the battlefield, neither had ever shown him anything but kindness and patience, albeit mostly tinged with a note of sarcasm that, at their most trying of times, bordered on hostility and hateful criticism. It did not, however, change the meaning behind their words and actions, and Aymeric had learned to read between the lines years ago. Neither had ever given him cause to fear them. (Though fearing _for_ them had become a bit of a pass-time.) Estinien and Shirina both loved him dearly, enough to share their time and his home with him, despite the fact that they could not get through the day without disagreeing over something to the point of either shouting or moodily exchanging snarky, passive-aggressive insults.

It was, perhaps, not the most healthy way to coexist, but they were learning how to properly communicate with each other without things devolving into, in his opinion, _hysterical_ misunderstandings.

(Shirina was very upfront and blunt with her feelings and emotions, and enjoyed playful teasing, while Estinien was stand-offish and unrelenting in expressing his feeling and emotions, and liked to call Shirina names. Shirina - while not purposefully, from what he could tell - often chipped at Estinien’s nerves with questions and constant pleas for clarification of intent behind his words and actions, while Estinien - with no intent to upset, but absolutely no brain to mouth filter - was brash, dismissive, a touch chauvinistic, and a lot jealous. They drove each other - for the most part, figuratively - up the wall with frustration trying to understand the other’s motives and intentions.)

“Forgive me,” Aymeric murmured after a moment, reaching over to place a hand over the top of Shirina’s, and the other on Estinien’s knee, “I do not know what has come over me today.”

Estinien choked on his drink at the touch, earning himself a dark glare from Shirina before he was able to reign himself in.

Aymeric rolled his eyes at the dragoon, and some of the tension in Shirina’s shoulders seemed to ease away, though it did nothing for his own. She unfolded her fingers and gently enclosed his hand between her own, shifting in her seat to turn more fully towards him. She cast a glance towards Estinien, who set his glass down on the end table and leaned forward in his seat.

“About that, Aymeric,” Estinien began and, in a rare show of affection, the dragoon twined his fingers with his, “Shirina and I have noticed that you have not been eating or sleeping well for the last several weeks.”

Aymeric blinked at Estinien in open confusion, then turned to Shirina, as though for confirmation.

Shirina gave him a nod, regret and guilt misting her eyes, “Aye, and Ser Lucia has informed us that you’ve been taking more and more onto your shoulders of late. Taking on things that wouldn’t normally be yours to handle. Making arrangements for meetings to discuss things when a simple letter would suffice.” She momentarily lifted a hand away from his to brush a wayward lock of hair from her face, before clasping his hands in hers again, “Things on the Gyr Abanian front have calmed considerably, Aymeric, and perhaps its because I know very little about the work behind rebuilding and running a country, but should this not be a time for you to take what rest you can get? To allow others to help bear the load for a while?” She lifted a hand to cup his cheek, “Is that not what the Alliance is for?”

Aymeric frowned at their words, his gaze not quite meeting with Shirina’s while she poured out her heartfelt plea to him. That feeling in his gut almost choked his words as he said, “There is a lot left to be done, my dear. I am only doing my part.”

Estinien’s hand on his knee tightened a bit, his voice biting with barely contained irritation, “And Lucia’s, and the House of Lords’, and the bloody messenger moogle’s.”

“Estinien,” Shirina murmured in warning, halfheartedly chastising him. She glanced his way, then down at the floor, avoiding Aymeric’s gaze. It was apparent that while she did not agree with his presentation, she wholeheartedly agreed with Estinien’s upset at the situation.

Estinien took a deep, shuddering breath, putting a clamp back down on his anger. His next words were hushed and sardonic, “If I did not know any better, Aymeric, I would swear that you are avoiding something.”

Aymeric shook his head, now frowning heavily at his long-time friend and lover, “There is still a great deal to be done, Estinien. I cannot sit idly by when there are still so many suffering. I must do everything in my power to help our people get back on their feet.”

Estinien just managed to keep his eyes from rolling, but kept himself in check, his fingers idly tapping on Aymeric’s knee, “I guessed you would say as much.”

Shirina gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, her voice just above a rasping whisper, “And what of your suffering, dear? When will you allow yourself succor? ”

Aymeric tilted his head curiously, “My suffering?” He glanced towards Estinien as well, offering a wry, guilt ridden smile to the two of them in turn, “I may have been preoccupied of late, but I would hardly call it suffering. . .”

Shirina lowered her hand from his cheek and settled it on his shoulder instead. She took a deep breath, blinking fresh tears from her eyes, “Aymeric. . .” Her voice broke and she settled for focusing on keeping her breathing steady instead. Aymeric gave her hand a small squeeze of comfort, which only seemed to upset her further.

Estinien stood and set a hand on the opposite shoulder, “If you do not wish to speak of it, we understand, but ignoring it will get you nowhere.”

“Ignoring,” Aymeric began, unrealized panic rising in his chest and causing his voice to raise an octave, “I am not ignoring. . .”

“Aymeric,” Estinien rumbled, his tone stern, but gentle as he could manage, “You cannot drown yourself in paperwork to forget the past. It must be addressed and we will not sit idly by while you torture yourself. . .” He cut himself off, swallowing hard, and lifted his fingers to curl beneath Aymeric’s chin, forcing him to meet his gaze, “Its been two years, Aymeric. When will you realize that you were not at fault for what happened?” He met Aymeric’s gaze, a spark of sorrow and understanding crossing through his blue gray eyes, stirring something long buried in Aymeric’s psyche.

Aymeric’s lips trembled as he averted his gaze, his body going rigid. He was silent for a long time, simply sitting there, staring at the rug he’d very nearly ruined just a few seconds ago.

Lucia constantly hounding him to go home and be at peace, Shirina making him promise to come home for dinner. Estinien collecting him that morning. The sense of foreboding he’d been feeling for days. The anxious knot in his belly, making him nauseous and miserable at the thought of food. The nagging feeling in the back of his mind that he shouldn’t sleep, lest something dreadful happen. Suddenly it all clicked into place. As the tidal wave of realization crashed over him, the knot in his belly became painful, nearly doubling him over.

Aymeric winced and squeezed his eyes shut.

Shirina’s voice broke the uncomfortable tension, her breath of a whisper, barely a sound at all, seeming loud in the unbearable silence of the room, “Estinien, that’s enough. Let him go.” As she said this, he felt her hands retreat from him.

Estinien slowly eased his trembling grip from Aymeric’s chin, a harsh curse escaping his lips as he settled heavily back into the armchair, the leather and wood creaking ominously under his weight.

Aymeric knew how difficult it was for Estinien to express his worry and fears, and it made him feel dreadful to deny him an explanation. He felt suddenly dirty.

His voice, when he was finally able to muster it up, was choked and strained, even to his own ears.

“I need a bit of air,” Aymeric murmured, slowly rising shakily to his feet. He had taken a few steps towards the door when Estinien’s voice met his ears.

“Will you be back?”

His tone was clipped, but he could hear the anger and desperation in it.

“In an hour,” he whispered, “Perhaps two.” He shook his head and took a deep breath, realizing that he wasn’t sure himself, “Before dark, at the very least.”

Estinien nodded once as he lifted his glass to his lips and took a sip.

Aymeric was in the darkened corridor, hands on the dining hall doors when he heard Estinien say, “Do not break this one.”

Shirina hiccuped loudly, stifling a sob, as he shut the doors behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys may have also noticed that I'm dreadful at tags. If you find that there are tags on this fic that should not be there, or that SHOULD be there, please let me know in the comments and I will (at my own discretion) add or remove them!
> 
> Also, please let me know what you think of the direction change?


	4. Contemplation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aymeric goes out to clear his head and finds himself in the most unlikely place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate this chapter. I hate it. I hate it. This chapter may get rewritten at some point, but I'm tired of looking at it. For now, this is it.
> 
> That being said, I hope that you enjoy it anyway. ^^;
> 
> The fifth chapter is very nearly done, however, and I am pretty pleased with it at the moment.

####  **Chapter 4**

  


Aymeric stepped out into the crisp noon air, scarcely aware of his surroundings, his mind a jumbled mess of sinister recollection. His heart was racing and the rush of blood in his ears seemed too loud, drowning out the din of the city around him. His pace was too quick, causing him to stagger over the uneven cobbles of the street beneath his feet. He had no idea where he was going, only that he _needed to get away_ from House Borel.

What did they expect of him? To simply push it all aside and simply forget?

_Of course_ he remembered. _Of course_ he thought about it.

_Every waking moment of every Twelve’s damned day_.

He had been _trying to forget it_ every waking moment of his life since that night in the bowels of the cathedral. All of the horror that he’d endured and strove to keep from his dreams by drinking far too much or staying awake for days until he was so tossed or exhausted that he collapsed, he _tried_ to forget.

How often, after all, had Lucia found him at his desk, face mashed into a pile of parchment and ink smeared across his cheek, because he’d been too tired or too inebriated to make the short trek home?

 

===

 

_‘Lord Commander,’ Lucia whispered, her hand curled over his shoulder, gently jostling him awake. He could hear the disdain in her voice. It was the tone of a woman that had grown tired of his shit, but cared too much to leave him to his own devices. She was tired of repeating herself, but she did it anyway, “Ser, go home to your bed.”_

_Aymeric remembered muttering something along the lines of ‘too busy’, before shrugging her hand from his shoulder and righting himself in his chair. He blinked blearily down at the crumbled form still clutched in his hand, trying to make any sense of the swimming text before his eyes._

_“Ser, please. What good will you do in this state,” she sighed, busying herself with sopping up the still dripping bottle of liquor he’d knocked over in a fit of frustration the night before. That she used a handful of reports from the Holy See to do so lifted his spirits a fair bit, but did little for his intensifying migraine._

_“I imagine that there will be a dour looking clergyman at my door in a matter of minutes, at this rate,” Aymeric muttered groggily, tossing the crumpled parchment to the side so that he could cradle his aching head in his hands, “Its like they can sense when I am at my wit’s end with them.”_

_Lucia dropped the soaking parchment in a bin, then used another to clean the sticky mess from her fingers, “Ah, yes, the scent of_ **_heresy_ ** _on the wind. . .”_

_Aymeric flinched at the word and pressed the heel of his hands against his eyes, hoping that the pressure would relieve some of the pain and that the motion would keep Lucia from noticing his discomfort._

 

===

 

It had been easier, of course, in the short weeks immediately after that night to worry about anything else.

Haurchefant’s death, getting vengeance for their fallen ally, had been at the forefront of his mind at first.

Then the Vanu summoned the Primal known as Bismark. That had kept them busy for days as Cid Garlond and his assistants worked with the Skysteel Manufactory to build an airship capable of towing an _island_ through the Sea of Clouds to lure the beast out.

Then Estinien, Shirina, and the few of her companions brave enough to endeavor to a place of strange technology and untold dangers, had flown to Azys Lla just to chase after his father when he could not.

The unrest in the city when the truth came out had very nearly tipped him over the edge, making him doubt his every word and action. The attempts on his life had very nearly ended him for good.

His hope to make peace with the dragons, only to have it sullied by people that could not let go of their hate over a war that had begun well before anyone could remember and fewer still could recall the reasoning for. Nidhogg’s vengeful spirit possessing Estinien’s body through the power of the eyes, his rage fueled by the dragoon’s hatred of dragon-kin and the elder dragon’s hatred for the race of men, and slaying his own kin for the sake of spite.

 

===

 

He’d tried so hard to think of other things. To keep himself busy so he wouldn’t have to remember, and for a long while, it worked, but the panic that had been safely tucked away for months, that looming sense of foreboding he’d been ignoring for weeks, came flooding through him, now, like a monsoon.

Memories of that night in his father’s sanctum flooded his thoughts. The sound of his father’s voice declaring him a heretic and ordering him to the darkest depths of The Vault, never to be seen or heard from again. The feeling of strong hands bruising his skin as the Heavensward dragged him away.

The crack of a whip filled his ears, followed by the biting lash against his skin. A fist connecting with his nose or his gut, sending him reeling and falling to the floor. The feeling of rough, woven hemp robe bit into his skin as the accusations and interrogations flew his way. Voices shouting and whispering, **demanding** that he give them the names of his compatriots in exchange for mercy.

Then, when he would not give them up, his breathing harsh, his lungs unable to get enough air, and his body broken and bloodied, the rush of soothing magic would warm his bitterly cold form, only for it all to start over again.

And then, when still he would not talk. . .

Aymeric recalled thrashing as they held him still, panic chasing bile up his throat as white hot metal was pressed into his skin, pain tearing a harsh cry from his cracked lips, and terror filling his gut, as the knights of the Heavensward _literally_ branded him a heretic. He remembered a burning in his lungs, screaming until he was hoarse, and praying desperately for Halone to spare him this unbelievable torture.

Blood, he remembered blood and pain and . . .

_Well, best not to think about the rest. . ._

 

===

 

“Ser Aymeric,” someone called to him, pulling him from his miserable musings.

Aymeric blinked at the figure standing before him, panic still at the forefront of his consciousness. For a moment, he was certain that the man was Ser Charibert, lips stained with rouge and grinning down at him as the aether flowed from his hands. He jerked away as the young man held out a hand to him.

“Ser, you seem unwell. Are you not supposed to be abed,” the young man urged on, his voice filled with concern and a touch of fear, hand stretched out to steady him.

Aymeric registered the hesitant tone in the man’s voice and scrubbed at his eyes a bit harder. _Charibert is dead. They are all dead,_ he reassured himself as his eyes finally focused.

The young man’s lips were stained with rolanberry juice, a few seeds still clung to his cheek and chin, and the heavy pack over his shoulder was stuffed to bursting with small, brown, paper packages and letters. A simple courier, just a boy, really, not quite grown into a man.

Aymeric recalled seeing the young man outside of the Congregation a handful of times. What was his name again? Fennic? Finland?

“Ser,” the boy tried again, his voice becoming urgent, “You’re sweating and breathing funny. Should I fetch someone to tend you?”

Aymeric shook himself and frowned down at the boy, “N-no. I am quite alright.” The boy did not seem convinced, his lips were curled down into a definitive frown and his eyes were wary. He seemed determined to bore a hole through Aymeric’s paper thin resolve, “Finny, was it?”

“Fentley, ser,” Fentley corrected.

“Yes, pray forgive me, Fentley,” Aymeric supplied, ashamed of himself forgetting the lad’s name and doing his best to look apologetic, but knowing he must look ghastly for the young courier to notice, “I am not well, no, but I am hoping the brisk air will breathe some life into me.”

“I mean no offence, Ser,” Fentley held up his hands in supplication, “But you look like you could use a night’s rest.” He offered Aymeric a bashful grin, “Or a sit down, at the very least. I can walk with you to Saint Reymanaud’s if yo-”

“ **_No_ **!”

Fentley took a step back, eyes wide.

Aymeric took a deep breath and tried to calm his frayed nerves, trying for some semblance of his normal candor, “N-no, thank you. I was just making my way back now.” He waved a hand dismissively and hoped his feeble lie would take.

Fentley raised a suspicious brow, but shrugged it off, “Aye, Ser, if you say so. If the Lady Warrior asks, Ser, I’ve not seen you today. I’d rather like to keep my head.”

Aymeric let out a surprised squawk and hoped desperately that it sounded enough like a laugh to throw the boy off, “Yes, of course. Your secret is safe with me.”

The boy nodded once, “Thank you, Ser, and please get some rest. It would be a shame if something dreadful happened to you.” He tugged his bag higher on his shoulder and hurried off down the lane.

_If only you knew. . ._

As Fentley scampered down the steps of the courtyard, Aymeric let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He took a moment to steady himself and turned on his heel.

Sharp, sky blue eyes met his from across the pavilion and made his heart seize up in his chest.

“Haurchefant,” he heard himself whisper, “How. . .?”

But the voice that followed was all wrong and, as he approached, Aymeric realized that the elezan was dark haired.

“Count Fortemps,” Aymeric greeted stiffly.

“Ser Aymeric,” Artoirel called. As he walked closer, his brows knitted together in concern and his voice gentled, “Are you unwell? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

Aymeric scrubbed his hands over his eyes and took a deep breath, willing his mind to lay his fears to rest. He could not lie to the eldest of House Fortemps so easily, he knew, and so he did not try. He said nothing, hoping that his silence would ward off the acting head of house.

“Ah, I see,” Artoirel nodded, realization crossing his face. He closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath, before looking towards Aymeric again. Artoirel beckoned him towards the stairs down to The Last Vigil, and said, “Come along, then, I’ll take you to father. He knows, better than I, how best to handle these kinds of things.”

Aymeric slumped his shoulder, but followed without protest.

 


	5. If Only

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ser Aymeric sits down with Lord Edmont for a heart to heart, while his lovers try to keep from chasing him down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter made me feel better. I was originally dreading writing this conversation, but once I sat down and really let myself try, it worked out.
> 
> Let me know in the comments what you guys think?

 

####  **Chapter 5**

Aymeric waited patiently in House Fortemps’ sitting room, arranged comfortably on an overstuffed brocade couch, while Artoirel went to fetch Lord Edmont from his study. He’d been given a small cup of tea, bitter in comparison to his usual cuppa, but the flavor was both familiar and sobering. The china cup felt so small in his hands and he could not seem to shake the feeling of dejavu that settled deep in his bones. It was not an altogether unpleasant feeling, but it nagged at him that its meaning seemed to elude his recollection.

The door to the eastern wing of the house pushed slowly open, revealing a rather tired looking Lord Edmont, supported by his old, polished, wooden cane, and followed by Artoirel. Aymeric stood as they entered, offering a curt bow of formality, and noting that Artoirel was now dressed in a more formal capacity. Artoirel seemed decidedly more at ease now that his father was present.

“Lord Edmont,” he began, again offering a curt bow as was proper, “You seem in fine health this. . . evening?” He slowed as he realized he was not entirely certain of the time of day, but managed to regain his composure admirably, “I thank you for your hospitality this eve and hope that I am not disrupting your routine over much.”

Edmont simply offered him a rather fond smile, a glint of mischief sparkling in his eyes as he said, “There is no cause for such formality, Aymeric. We are practically family. I know all too well that I look old and dreadful.” Edmont opened his arms wide as though to show Aymeric, despite looking immaculate, though perhaps a bit worn, before planting his cane a bit more firmly in the plush carpet. “And I must say that you look no better, Lord Commander. You look as though you’ve just escaped the Sanitarium.” He gave Aymeric a slight inclination of his head, motioning none too subtly at his attire.

Aymeric took a moment to be horrified, gaping and blinking as he looked down at himself. Even in the time that it took Artoirel to lead him to the house and fetch his father, he was certain that he’d managed to get himself a bit more together. He’d paid little mind to his attire when leaving the house, so desperate to escape his lovers’ questioning, that he did not realize that he’d been bumbling about the city in his waistcoat and house clothes.

“There, there, my boy,” Edmont chuckled good naturedly, stepping closer to give him a pat on the shoulder, “There is no need to look so flabbergasted.” He looked back at Artoirel, “He will be quite alright in my care, my son. Go on with your business.”

Artoirel gave him a quick nod and went on his way, looking all too relieved to be dismissed.

The heavy doors at the front of the house clicked shut and left them alone in the ensuing silence.

The cool air from outside crept in after Artoirel’s departure, making Aymeric aware of how ill prepared he was for the climate outside. Though seeming crisp and lovely from the inside of his house, the air was quite chilly outside of it and his mode of dress was no match for it. He took a moment to relish the warmth from the cup in his hands, lifting it to his lips with slightly trembling hands and wishing that his teeth did not chatter quite so much as he took a sip of his proffered tea.

Edmont seemed to catch on to the subtle shiver, his wise old eyes sharp as ever even after all of their years. “Come along, my boy,” he gave Aymeric’s shoulder another pat and limped back towards the east door, “Let us get you settled by the fire with some cocoa. Get the chill out of your bones.”

A pang of guilt churned his stomach at the familiar gesture, but Aymeric did not hesitate to follow after.

 

===

 

“Will you please sit down,” Estinien hissed.

Shirina rolled her eyes at him as she continued to pace the length of the kitchen. She stopped only long enough to nab a piece of celery from the counter, leftover from the lunch she’d yet to put away, before continuing her circuit. She crunched into it in irritation.

Estinien took a deep breath, counted to ten, then let it out slow. When this did not serve to calm his nerves, he slammed the plate he’d been scrubbing into the sink, intent on watching as the delicate china splintered and shattered into hundreds of pieces.

“We should go after him,” he hunched over the sink and glared daggers at the little shards of porcelain.

Shirina pivoted in his direction, pointing the gnawed-on stalk accusingly at him, “He said that he would be back before dark. It isn’t dark yet.”

“Aye. Its only evening. What does that give him? An hour? Maybe two?”

“If we chase him down then we only prove that we don’t trust him to take care of himself.”

“He left the house in his pyjamas and a vest. . .”

“That’s _not_ the point and you know it!”

“I believe that is _precisely_ the point.”

Shirina huffed and threw the pale remains of the stalk at him, only to growl in frustration as Estinien caught it and popped it into his mouth. He leveled her with a smug grin, which only served to irritate her more.

She settled hard into the nearby chair with a huff and lowered her head into her hands. She was silent for a long while, which Estinien was all to pleased to wait out. When she furiously brushed her bangs back from her face, her ears flattening against her head, Estinien knew that she had conceded.

“One hour,” she grit through her teeth, her eyes narrowed into her most withering glare, “We will give him one more hour, then we will go out looking for him.”

Estinien nodded curtly and turned to pluck the broken fragments from the basin, hiding the breath of relief that escaped his lips with the clatter.

 

===

 

“Would you like another cup,” Lord Edmont offered, lifting the kettle from its cozy.

Aymeric blinked up at him, clearly having been lost in his thoughts. It took him a moment to register what was asked, but he simply shook his head, seemingly content with the warmth that permeated from the mug in his hands, “No, thank you.” His attention returned to the hearth, steady on the dark oak logs as the flames lapped along their bark, and he fell silent once more.

Edmont relented, pouring himself a fresh cup before settling the kettle back in its cozy. He sat back in his chair, holding his own mug up close to his face, his eyes watching the younger man intently. He was painfully aware of the time of year, etched permanently in his mind as it was, and understood to some extent what it meant to the Lord Commander. He considered what to say as he sipped gingerly, letting the chocolate and nip of cream liquor he’d added to his cup steel him for the conversation ahead.

He did not get the chance to complete his plan of action, however, as Aymeric inhaled deeply and spoke.

“How do you move on?”

Aymeric’s voice came out in a hoarse whisper. Were he any older, Edmont might have missed it, but he heard the pain in the young man’s voice loud and clear. Having some idea what he meant, but not wishing to assume, Edmont settled his cup on the table beside him and waited patiently for the Lord Commander to elaborate.

“H-how do you move beyond the guilt,” Aymeric choked, shaking his head in confusion as a tear rolled down his cheek.

Edmont nodded in understanding, taking a moment to compose himself before he answered.

“We all have blood on our hands, my boy. This war began well before my years and would have continued well beyond your own if you had not taken a stand. You are guilty only of wanting peace and happiness for your people.”

Aymeric nodded slowly, closing his eyes and taking another breath, “I see how Ishgard has progressed these last few years, and while I know she is better for it, I cannot forget the toll it has cost us.”

Edmont smiled kindly, “The toll was high, yes, but the road to peace is paved with the blood, sweat, and tears of those that strive for it.” He inclined his head towards the Lord Commander, “My son gave his life for that cause, as you well know, but I have heard that it nearly cost your own, as well.”

Aymeric grimaced as he turned back to the fire, finally lifting his mug to his lips. He took a tentative sip before whispering, “If only I had fallen instead. . .”

“Who then, my boy,” Edmont reasoned, trying to keep his voice calm and even, despite the sudden fierce protectiveness he felt for the young man, “Who would have taken the responsibility of rebuilding the city and guiding the people to this republic we have found?”

Aymeric chuckled bitterly, “Your sons have done well by Ishgard in these last years.”

“And by whose example have they been able to do so, do you think,” Edmont murmured, “Until the Warrior of Light came to stay with us, Artoirel and Emmanellain were both embroiled in their own endeavors and selfish whims. Hardly leadership material. Should you have not bid me to aid the Scions, we would never have met and she would not have taught them to look outside of themselves to see the world around them.”

“And Haurchefant?”

“He would have tried, I am certain, but my son was no leader. Do not mistake my meaning, I loved him greatly, but he had no head for politics and diplomacy as you do,” Edmont lowered his own gaze to the flickering in the fireplace. It left a bitter taste in his mouth to speak ill of his fallen son, though he was certain Haurchefant would agree with his reasoning for doing so. He took another sip from his cup, swallowed hard, then continued with a bit more conviction, “He was brave, headstrong, and honorable, he had a head for logistics, and was well loved by the knights that served under him at Dragonhead. All fine qualities. . .” Edmont took a moment to catch his breath, setting his cup aside so that he could wipe the tears from his cheeks before Aymeric could see them. Even still, his voice trembled as he continued, “Though in a General, but perhaps not in a man meant to make peace. His fantastical ideals of how a knight should behave, while admirable, would have been the death of him at the podium. He was simply too idealistic and trusting for the political stage. And where would Ishgard be then?”

Aymeric remained silent.

Edmont watched him for a long while, trying to read his face for any hint that his words had made an impact. Any sign that he had even been heard. The Lord Commander remained passive and unmoving, however.

“Ser Aymeric,” Edmont prompted, frowning at his young guest in concern. Though he did not know the young man well, he had spent enough time in his company to know that this stillness was entirely unlike Aymeric. Paired with the sorry state he’d arrived in, Edmont began to worry that the young man was seriously ill. “Aymeric, shall I call for Shirina? Or perhaps a chirurgeon?”

In that moment, Aymeric looked pained. The way that his brows furrowed and the corners of his eyes pinched gave him the deeply troubled look of a man that had experienced more horror in one night than any single man should in a lifetime.

Edmont was momentarily taken aback by this. He had never seen the Lord Commander looking so lost before. However, Edmont _had_ seen the look on others before. On the faces of young knights returned from imprisonment in the Garlean Capital. Some were able to hide it well, living long and mostly happy lives. Others fell apart at the seams and wasted their days away drinking in the tavern halls. Others still. . .

He shuddered to think of their fate as he gazed upon the young, harrowed-eyed, Lord Commander. It would be like losing another child, should he follow that same road, and Edmont could nary consider the thought.

“I pray that you will forgive me, my boy, if I have mistaken the intent of your queries,” Edmont planted his cane firmly into the decorative rug and levered himself to his feet. Though his bad leg protested loudly, he ignored it in favor of giving Aymeric his full and undivided attention, “My younger sons often come to be reassured, you see, and I am beginning to see that I have been remiss in my duties to my eldest.” Edmont tentatively placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder, “I see now that you wish not to have your bruised ego soothed, but that you wish only for a sympathetic ear.”

Aymeric did his best not to shy away from the gentle touch, instead placing a hand over the one on his shoulder, as he took a breath that quivered with unshed tears, “Yes, that would be preferable, Lord Edmont. I do not believe that what I must confess can be soothed with anything but time and patience.”

“And perhaps something stronger to drink to get us through this _dreadful_ day?”

Aymeric chuckled at that, short and just shy of bitter, before swallowing down the painful lump in his throat. He patted Edmont’s hand in agreement, “Yes, I fear it is long over due, at that.”

Edmont squeezed the Lord Commander’s shoulder affectionately, “That it is, my boy.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't want to go into the graphic detail of what happened to Aymeric in the end. I felt that it was implied well enough and that by leaving it where I did, it would keep from triggering anyone that may have gone through something similar?
> 
> Again, let me know what you think in the comments?
> 
> Also, please feel free to leave constructive criticism? If something doesn't flow properly? If I've misspelled something? Let me know?
> 
> (Just one or two chapters left, friends~!)


	6. Midnight Dreary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shirina and Estinien are ready to tear Ishgard down in search of Aymeric, when someone shows up at their door. Aymeric ~~eventually~~ comes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a bitch to write. I managed, but it took some doing. I plan on writing one last chapter ~~one where they actually talk to each other like adults~~ and maybe an epilogue chapter. Thanks for sticking around this long~!
> 
>  
> 
> I'm trying the HTML formatting with this chapter. . . Let's see how this goes. . .

 

####  **Chapter 6**

  


“I’ll head down into the Brume. Hilda will have heard by now if he’s been that way,” Shirina half-muttered as she haphazardly fastened her heavy woolen cloak over her shoulders, momentarily sparing a glance Estinien’s way to see if he’d heard.

Estinien had a hand on the knob of the door already and his other holding Shirina’s axe out to her as she righted her winter clothes, “I will scour the Pillars and meet you back in Foundation if I do not find him.”

Shirina nodded impatiently as she took the axe from his hands and hefted it onto her back, leaving Estinien to open the door for them both, “Contact me if you find him before I do.”

Estinien nodded firmly as he turned to make his way over the threshold, only to be stopped short in his tracks by the figure on the stoop. Shirina did not have the presence of mind to notice and walked right into him, nearly losing her footing on an icy patch of cobble.

Artoirel stood just beyond the front door and offered them a curious, wry smile, hand raised to steady his sister on her feet. His eyebrows raised high in concern as he took in the sight of the two of them, fully armed from tooth to toe and blatantly prepared for danger. Estinien was ready to bowl him over, his eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened in irritation.

“I’d not heard of an attack,” Artoirel began, eyes wide in wonder, “Has there been word of another primal?”

“We’re going out to look for Aymeric,” Shirina’s eyes were pinched at the corners, her face a mask of anguish.

Artoirel gave a slight nod in understanding, his shoulders relaxing at the admission, “That is what I’ve come to speak with you about.”

“What’s happened,” Estinien snapped, grinding his teeth and narrowing his eyes further.

“He is. . . I would not say well,” Artoirel hurried to explain himself, eyeing them warily as Estinien flinched and Shirina made a sound like the breath had been knocked out of her. “But, he is unharmed, at the very least.”

“And where is he now,” Estinien breathed, the tension slowly fading from his shoulders.

“He is with father at House Fortemps.”

Shirina’s barely audible ‘thank the twelve’ was nearly drowned out by the sound of her axe thumping against the ground. She leaned heavily against the door frame and took a steadying breath, looking tired and drained and just this side of hysterical.

Estinien was almost certain she’d hit the ground, so he shuffled closer to her. Her lips quirked into an exhausted smile and his presence seemed to help.

Artoirel cleared his throat and averted his gaze, giving them a moment to get their emotions back in check.

Estinien lifted his chin and flicked his eyes back into the house, which was an out Artoirel was all too thankful to take. He quickly stepped around the dragoon and his sister and headed inside, pleased to wait patiently inside while they sorted themselves out.

Shirina didn’t seem to notice him leave, her eyes locked onto the front steps, wide and unseeing, “I should go fetch him . . .”

“No,” Estinien murmured, briefly brushing his knuckles against her hip, drawing her out of her shocked daze long enough to catch her gaze, “You were right. We should leave him, for now. I am certain Lord Edmont is more than capable. He would let us know if ought was amiss.”

Shirina pushed herself away from the door frame long enough to pluck her axe from the ground and step back inside. She hesitated for a moment, glancing towards the lounge where Artoirel had disappeared and looking torn, “I should go spea-. . .’

“ _You_ ,” Estinien muttered irritably, grabbing the haft of her axe and tugging it from her fingers, “Should go calm yourself and get more comfortable.”

Shirina’s eyes sparked with something like fury and her lips parted to protest, turning in her spot to chastise him. Estinien placed one of his large, warm hands at the small of her back, his thumb soothing over her spine, as he leaned in to brush his lips against her temple. She quieted instantly, the fight going out of her at that simple touch, so unexpected, but so tender she couldn’t deny him. His voice was gentler than either of them could ever have expected as he said, “I will go put the kettle on and keep Artoirel entertained, while you take a moment for yourself. We do not know what state he will be in once he gets home and it would do us both some good to relax until he does.”

Shirina nodded slowly and swallowed, her voice breathless with unshed tears and painfully quiet, “I just want him to be alright. . .”

“I know,” Estinien whispered into her hair, “I know.”

Shirina took another few moments to blink away her tears, using that comforting touch to ground herself. When at last she felt more steady on her feet, she lifted her fingers to swipe at the corners of her eyes, turned to brush a chaste kiss to Estinien’s jaw, then solemnly headed up the stairs.

Estinien was surprised when she went with little argument, expecting her to at least make a sarcastic comment about being kind to her brother. He supposed, however, after only a moment of consideration, that neither of them were truly ready for another argument, even if it was only play-acting. The tips of his fingers, and the spot on his jaw where she’d kissed him, were still warm and slightly tingly. He found himself staring after her long after she’d gone from the landing and fighting the urge to follow after her.

To do what, he wasn’t sure and wouldn’t give himself a moment to think about.

Tea and pleasantries were what was necessary for the time being.

Damn, how he wished that Aymeric were here now. . .

 

===

 

It was late and dark as pitch outside, when Shirina heard the front door open. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the window, trying to calm her frantic heartbeat by shoving her fingers back into the pile of tangled yarn she’d given up on almost immediately. She winced when a thread snagged on her raw, gnarled finger tips, her nails chewed down to the quick.

Estinien was right in saying that they had no way of knowing how he would react right now. Not after everything that had happened this morning. She did not find herself very convincing and only the memory of Aymeric’s face before he’d stormed out kept her rooted in place. Shame and guilt and _so much pain_ had sent him running and she hated herself for putting them there. She should never have mentioned his imprisonment. She’d only wanted him to feel better, to be able to move passed the trauma, but she had not considered that he might not be ready to face it. She felt so selfish for that now.

She strained her hearing, her ears twitching towards the rest of the house to listen carefully. It was unbearably silent, even the bustling of the city had died down, and she was left with the sinking feeling that Estinien had left as well.

She was just about to untangle herself from her bed sheets, the fear in her breast getting the better of her and spurring her into action, when she heard shuffling feet outside of her bedroom door. She hadn’t even heard someone coming up the stairs and that left her with the notion that it would be Estinien even before she heard his voice. He was startlingly light of foot at the best of times.

“Artoirel’s just left,” Estinien murmured, his roiling timber almost too soft for her superior hearing to pick up, “May I come in?”

She was almost tempted to turn him away, still feeling raw and dreadfully guilty. She’d talked Estinien into going along with her plan and it gnawed at her that he hadn’t thrown it back in her face the moment things went south.

 _Estinien’s done nothing wrong_ , she murmured to herself, clenching her fingers tight in the sheets, _You’ve done this to yourself. You deserve what’s coming to you. . ._

The long pause that followed was only broken by the sound of him jostling something, a quiet tinkling breaking through the tense silence.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, steeling herself and sitting herself up a bit straighter. She gathered up the knotted yarn from her lap and tried to put on a mask of composure. She even almost managed to sound some semblance of normal when she called, “Come in.”

Estinien cracked the door open, peeking his head in to look over the room. Whatever he saw seemed to amuse him, because he pushed the door open a bit wider, a tray in his hands with two steaming mugs and a smirk curling his lips.

“I suppose I should have guessed that you were secretly a slob,” he sniggered, quirking a brow at her.

Shirina blinked at that, taking a cursory glance around her room and finding nothing unusual about the way her belongings were haphazardly strewn across the floor in heaps of books, armor, and cloth. She furrowed her brows at him and frowned, “I’ve no idea what you mean.”

Estinien sighed as he made his way towards her, carefully picking through the disaster that was her bedroom and making it look effortless. When he made it to her bedside, he used an elbow to shove various bottles and satchels from her side table to make room for the tray he’d brought with him.

Shirina growled when the items hit the ground with a loud crunch and thump, “I had those exactly where I wanted them, thank you. . .”

“Of course,” Estinien snorted, plucking one of the mugs from the tray and holding it out to her, “Drink this. It will calm your nerves.”

“I’m fine,” Shirina hissed as she snatched the cup from his hand and sloshed hot liquid over her fingers.

“Aye,” Estinien rolled his eyes, taking the other cup and taking a sip. He lowered the mug from his lips and lifted his chin, “That would be why your fingers are bleeding, then?”

Shirina’s fingers twitched as she unconsciously curled them in around the mug’s handle, “I pricked myself with my knitting needles. . .”

“You mean the ones over there,” Estinien nodded towards the windowsill where her yarn basket was, the needles stuck neatly into one of the skeins.

Shirina lowered her eyes and took a sip from her mug to keep from answering. She hadn’t paid attention to what he’d given her and as the rich flavor of the hot chocolate he’d made for her tingled over her tongue, she began to tremble. She closed her eyes and let out a long, shuddering breath, trying to hide the moment of weakness behind the rim of her mug.

“You are not fine,” Estinien stated plainly.

“No, I’m not,” Shirina said.

Estinien seemed satisfied with that and turned to begin rummaging around in the items he'd knocked over.

“Please, help yourself,” Shirina muttered, sipping from her drink and eying him miserably, though she did nothing to stop him.

“Salve,” Estinien offered as his only explanation, tossing a heavy sack to the side to get at the bottles beneath it. He cast an incredulous glance at the sack when it clinked and scattered gil across the floor, but quickly returned his attention to the task at hand.

“You've probably just smashed anything I might have.”

Estinien made a humming noise as he lifted a disk shaped jar to inspect it. He popped it open and sniffed it, scrunched up his nose, and seemed to decide that it would do. He came back to her side, lightly shoving her legs out of the way before he sat beside her. He held out his hand expectantly.

Shirina glared at his open palm as she curled her legs beneath her, “You don’t even know what that is.”

“It smells putrid. Like someone burned down an apothecary and bottled it.” Estinien settled the jar on his knee and dipped a finger into the waxy paste. He looked back to her, raising a brow in challenge, and a strange smile quirking his lips, “I would like to think you would not let me touch the stuff if it was harmful.”

Shirina eyed him for a long while, wanting to say something to the contrary, but resisting the urge because she knew that it was true. She reluctantly uncurled one of her hands from around her mug, opening and closing her fingers a few times to relieve some of the stiffness from gripping it so tight. She turned her eyes away as she swallowed down a sudden surge of shame, stretched her hand out, and settled it atop his open palm.

Estinien’s hand closed around hers, his long fingers curling over the back of her hand, unusually gentle, as he turned it this way and that to get a better look. She turned to watch him from the corners of her eyes, her cheeks warming, as he tutted softly and touched the gel to the tip of one of her fingers. She winced and made to pull back, but he held her firm, soothing his thumb over the back of her hand. The tincture burned slightly and she willed herself to keep still, the hand around the mug tightening and causing the porcelain to creek ominously, while he applied it to the rest of her fingers on that hand. When he was through, he leaned over her hand and blew gently over the drying paste, sending a shiver down her spine that had just as much to do with the cool air as the almost immediate relief. If he noticed the fine tremor in her hand from the sensation he made no indication; he only settled it down onto the bed beside her knee and held out his hand for the other.

Shirina settled the mug between her crossed legs and held out her other hand for the same treatment. She did not expect Estinien to be even more careful this time, just touching the gel to her fingers and smoothing it into her burning skin with the lightest of caresses. The tenderness of the action had tears pooling in her eyes and she squeezed them shut to stave them off. He repeated the same soothing motions over the back of her hand, blowing gently. This time, however, instead of setting her hand down, he took it in both of his and just held it.

Her nose twitched as she tried to keep her tears back, the weight of that simple action shattering her carefully won control. The tremor in her hands had become a full on tremble now, her lip quivering along with them. Hot tears squeezed from the corners of her eyes and rolled down her cheeks, a small whimper escaping her.

She felt Estinien shift on the bed beside her and before she could even react, he was pulling her against him. His hands released hers and he curled his arms around her, holding him to his side and tucking her head beneath his chin. She felt a low rumble in his chest and he was murmuring something into her hair that she couldn’t make out over the sound of blood pounding in her ears and her own choked off sobs.

They sat that way for a long time. Estinien held her tight to his side, her head cradled against his neck and shoulder, and occasionally murmured something she couldn’t quite understand. He even started rubbing his palm in soothing circles over her back, which helped a great deal, though she’d never admit it out loud. It took a lot of effort to clamp her panic back down to the pit of her stomach where she kept it, first by regulating her breathing, then willing the trembling to stop. The tears and sniffling were easier, she simply squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath for a moment, then let it, and all of the anxiety she’d been bottling up, out with it.

Shirina tentatively lifted her head and made to move away and for a moment, she wasn’t sure Estinien was going to let her go. He did, however, giving her one last squeeze before he let his arms fall back to his knees.

“Thanks,” Shirina brushed the wetness from her cheeks and eyes and gave him a wry smile, “Guess I needed that. . .”

Estinien hummed his agreement, watching her warily as though she’d burst into tears again and looking like he wasn’t really ready to handle that again. They fell into an uncomfortable silence, neither quite sure what to do with the other or if they should say something more.

Estinien, to both of their surprise, broke the silence first.

“You have been so busy worrying about Aymeric that you forgot to mourn your own loss. It cannot have been easy for you to push all of that aside this week.”

Shirina worried her lip with her teeth, her eyes downturned to stare at her healing fingers, “Planning for today made it really easy not to think about anything else.” She turned her eyes to look up at him, her cheeks warming and the guilt turning her little smile wry, “I might be a great big hypocrite, Estinien, scolding him for doing the same thing.” She lifted her hand, pinky extended and wiggled it at him, “Promise not to tell Aymeric?”

Estinien let out a noise between a snort and a scoff at the childish notion, “I am certain he is already _well_ aware,” he wrapped his pinky around hers and gave it a little shake, “But yes, I promise.”

Shirina sighed wistfully as she turned her eyes to her bedroom door, still open to the dimly lit hallway, “I hope he gets back soon.”

“Aye.”

 

===

 

Aymeric was hesitant to accept the escort of two House Fortemps guards to begin with, but Lord Edmont had insisted. Despite the relative safety of post-war Ishgard, there were still those that held a grudge for his part in making peace with dragons. Once they reached his street, however, his house in clear view of the watch and well lit from the street lamp outside, he was more than happy to send them on their way.

He arrived home to find that the house was dark; only the lantern on the front stoop and the inside hallway were lit. He tried to be quiet as he stepped up to the front door and carefully turned the knob, wincing as the door creaked unbearably loud. It wasn’t that he was trying to sneak in, he reasoned with himself, only that he didn’t wish to wake his household should they be resting.

Even to his own tired brain it sounded a sorry excuse.

He slipped through the door and shut it as gently as possible, still flinching when the heavy door settled into the frame with a thud. He wasn’t entirely certain if the sound was as loud as it seemed, or if it was only because he was trying not to make noise in the first place. He stood just inside the door for a moment, listening carefully for any sign of his companions, and letting out a held breath when he heard none.

He slipped the heavy coat Sir Edmont had lent him onto the wrack beside the door, thankful for the man’s foresight as the night had grown dreadfully cold in the hours after the sun had set. He eyed the coat miserably for a moment, having the sense to realize that it must have been one of Haurchefant’s if it fit him so well, and made a mental note to return it as soon as possible. He would have to think of some way to repay Sir Edmont for his kindness, as well.

When he turned away from the front entrance, he took a moment to consider the stairway, eyeing it warily as though it would jump out and bite him. He considered putting off the impending confrontation in favor of a cup of tea, if only to soothe his frayed nerves, but decided against it. Asleep or no, they would be terribly cross with him if he did not at least let them know he was home and safe. He took a deep breath and turned towards the stairs, stepping lightly around the ones that he was certain would creek.

 

===

 

Estinen lifted his head as he heard the door creek open, making to move away, only to be pinned in place by the sleeping Miqo’te curled in his arms. He frowned down at Shirina’s sleeping face, just stifling a frustrated growl if only because she at least wasn’t crying anymore. He couldn’t stand it when she cried.

Deciding it would be better to just wait Aymeric out instead, Estinien settled down a bit more comfortably. Aymeric would have to come upstairs eventually and he would have to pass Shirina’s bedroom on his way to his own room. He leaned his head back against the headboard and turned his gaze to the open door, a cruel smile curled his lips.

 

===

 

He’d always been patient when waiting out his prey, and now was no different.

Aymeric reached the top of the stairs with a newfound respect for Shirina and Estinien’s ability to step lightly. Despite his efforts, each and every one of the twenty-six stairs he’d tread on had creaked and left him wishing that he could just melt into the wood and disappear. He lifted his head to see that the light in Shirina’s bedroom was on and the door was open, which was unusual, for the most part. She usually closed her door when she was in there and she very rarely slept in her own room these days. He took the last few steps towards the door and peered inside, furrowing his brow at the sight.

Estinien was sat up against the headboard of Shirina’s bed, one arm curled under his head and the other curled around Shirina’s shoulders, his hand rested on her lower back and stroking soothing circles along her spine.

Estinien’s lips were quirked into a wicked smirk and his eyes were on him the moment his head popped around the door.

Aymeric was half-tempted to run down the stairs and hide himself away in the kitchen at the look in Estinien’s eyes, but he managed to tamp it down.

“I’m home,” Aymeric murmured, knowing that he must look guilty because he certainly felt it.

“Welcome home,” Estinien whispered, careful to keep his voice down so as not to disturb Shirina.

Aymeric stepped into the room, glancing around at Shirina’s usual chaos, and picking through it expertly to get closer. He stood a few feet away and fiddled with his waistcoat, having forgotten to remove it when he came in. Estinien seemed to notice.

“You look like you’ve escaped the Sanitarium.”

“I have been told as much,” Aymeric tried for a small, wry smile and managed to hold it long enough for Estinien to snort at him.

Shirina stirred beside him and they both went silent for a moment, watching as she shifted, settled, and her breathing evened out again.

“Has she been asleep long?”

“An hour or so,” Estinien sighed, his voice lower as he smoothed his hand down her back. He turned to face Aymeric again, “She was worried about you.”

“I am sorry for not coming home sooner.”

“I am not the one you need apologize to,” Estinien smirked up at him, “I was certain you would return when you were ready.”

“Thank you for that,” Aymeric murmured and he found that it was true. He was grateful that Estinien hadn’t tracked him down and dragged him back. He wasn’t entirely sure that he would have been able to return without his much needed confessional with Sir Edmont. Even if he hadn’t realized he needed it at the time, “Truly. Thank you for trusting me.”

Estinien rolled his shoulders in a shrug, obviously deflecting in favor of keeping the mood light, despite the blatant tension.

Aymeric shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes darting away from Estinien’s mask of amusement. He was aware enough of his companion’s ability to fake a smile, after all of their years together, of the way he was able to hide anything behind a mask of fury or cruel amusement. It had served him well enough over the years, and why shouldn’t it now? When he was clearly holding back the urge to shout and curse at Aymeric for turning tail when he was frightened. He knew the only reason Estinien did not make such an outburst was for the benefit of Shirina, resting at his side.

Something about his face must have clued Estinien to some of Aymeric’s inner turmoil, because he raised a brow and said, “Did it help?”

Aymeric blinked slowly, finally bringing his eyes back to meet Estinien’s cool gaze, “I’m sorry?”

Estinien rolled his eyes and motioned at Aymeric, “Your little jaunt through the city. Did it help?”

Aymeric frowned at that, furrowing his brows and worrying his lower lip as he thought about that. He barely remembered the walk itself, but his eventual sojourn at House Fortemps had been decidedly more. . . pleasant and enlightening, if not difficult. He still felt a bit raw and exhausted from the whole ordeal, pouring out his heart and soul and all of the dreadfulness he’d bottled up over the last couple of years to a man he’d only known well for half of that. He found himself nodding despite himself, “Yes. Yes, I believe it did.”

“Good,” Estinien said firmly, taking a moment to just look Aymeric over. After a moment, he shifted in the bed, trying to free himself from the miqo’te clinging to his side without waking her. The little growl of disapproval she let out had him rolling his eyes as she clung all the tighter. He cast a knowing, weary smile towards Aymeric, “How do you deal with this every morning?”

Aymeric simply smiled gently and shrugged his shoulders in a manner that said he didn’t mind it in the least. He made no move to assist Estinien, too pleased with the sight of his normally raucous companions cuddled together like a pair of love birds, even if the dragoon did make a grand show of his discontent with the situation.

“Are you going to stand there all night,” Estinien murmured, again quirking that brow of challenge and looking a bit desperate, “Or are you going to help me escape your pet octopus so I can go for a piss?”

Aymeric grinned at that, a low chuckle rumbling out of him despite his previous misgivings, “I would be lying if I said that I did not find this situation delightfully entertaining. . .”

“Sadist,” Estinien huffed, before a cruel grin spread across his lips, a mischievous glint to his eye, “I could always wake her and leave you alone to deal with the fall out.”

Aymeric immediately took a few steps closer, his eyes widening when Estinien lifted his free hand in a show of intimidation, fingers curled as though he would flick Shirina’s ears. Aymeric knew that they were very sensitive and that she would be spitting mad if the dragoon followed through with his threat. Before he knew what he was doing, he’d crossed the small gap between them and was reaching for Estinien’s wrist, his voice breathless as he pleaded, “Don’t.”

“I am no fool,” Estinien breathed as he lowered his hand, curling it around Shirina’s shoulders once more. He pulled the other from beneath his head and reached for Aymeric’s hip, grabbing him around the waist to pull him closer.

Aymeric froze as those long fingers curled over his hip, flashes of fingers digging bruises into his skin.

Estinien seemed to notice and retracted the offending hand, frowning heavily up at him.

“Forgive me,” Aymeric whispered, tilting his head down to press his lips against Estinien’s temple as penance, his fingers loosely wrapping around the dragoon’s wrist, “It isn’t you, I just. . .”

“Say no more,” Estinien whispered, placing a kiss to Aymeric’s jaw, “I understand.”

Aymeric nodded and took a deep breath, steadying himself and standing a little straighter. After a moment of somewhat strained silence he put on one of his more diplomatic smiles, but knew it didn’t reach his eyes when he said, “You needed to relieve yourself?”

“Fury’s sake, yes,” Estinien hissed, immediately making to extract himself from Shirina again.

This time she woke with a grumble, her lashes fluttering and her eyes narrowed at the dim lights. It took her only a moment to realize where she was and that she was not alone in her bedroom. She frowned and furrowed her brows, blearily glaring at the two figures, “Why. . .?” Her eyes cleared and widened a bit as she shot up straight, “Aymeric! You’re home!”

Aymeric tried not to wince at the blatant relief in her tone, or the way she looked him over as though she expected to find him wounded or worse. “Yes, my dear,” he murmured, moving to take Estinien’s place beside her as the dragoon beat a hasty retreat now that he wasn’t restrained.

Shirina made to pull him into her arms, but hesitated, eyeing him warily when he couldn’t hide how he flinched away from the sudden movement. “Artoirel came by earlier. Told us you were with father,” her voice was small and just this side of sheepish when she murmured, “Are you . . . alright?”

That was a loaded question and he was certain they both knew it.

Aymeric settled himself more comfortably on the mattress beside her, opened an arm to welcome her closer. She thankfully took the small concession for what it was and eased herself into his embrace, her hands curled beneath her chin to keep her hands from wandering. He curled his arm over her shoulders and pulled her closer, nuzzling his face against the top of her head as she rested it on his chest.

“I will be,” he murmured, letting out a breath of relief that ruffled her hair and caused her ears to flick his cheek. He pressed a kiss to the tip of one. “I will be.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, after some finagling, I managed to format this properly. ~~I think. . .~~.
> 
> So, I guess I'll work on that with the other chapters and some of my other works. . .
> 
>  **Update:** Reformatted chapters 4  & 5 ~~'cause I'm dumb and I work backwards~~. Will get to the rest later~!


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